A DEA Agent Was Murdered
by coldfusion9797
Summary: Con Air retold from Duncan Malloy's POV, in which he and Agent Sims are a couple. Twoshot.


**AN: Every word of the dialogue in this fic comes straight from the movie. Apart from that, it's complete and utter ridiculousness. Enjoy!**

Today was gonna be a good day. Duncan Malloy had been waiting for a chance to break this Cindino case and today was it. He rolled into the airport in his shiny Corvette, feeling pretty pleased with himself. He came to a halt when he spotted Skip, and some other dipshit, waiting for him.

"Duncan, good to see ya, she sure is beautiful."

"Hey, beautiful? Sunsets are beautiful, new born babies are beautiful, this? This is fucking spectacular." The true wonder of the vehicle seemed to be lost on them both. Ah well, their loss.

"Duncan, this is Vince Larkin he's overseeing the transpo. Vince, Duncan Malloy, DEA."

Larkin attempted to speak to him but Duncan revved the engine, making it had to hear him, it was probably bullshit anyway. Duncan parked his baby in the disabled park. It was wider, meaning there was less chance of damage to his paintwork, and who the fuck would show up here today in a wheelchair anyway?

Duncan got out of his car and headed inside. When he stepped through the door he saw Willie was already here and he was talking to that annoying Marshal. Duncan strode towards them, eager to see how Willie was this morning. It was inappropriate to be involved with a subordinate but Duncan had always had a healthy disregard for the rules and besides, he'd never been one to shy away from what he wanted. Why the fuck should he? Willie fell into an easy camaraderie with the Marshal and even though it kinda pissed Duncan off, he knew Willie's ability to do so was why he was suited to his task today. Duncan caught up with them and took the Cindino file from Willie as Larkin prattled on with whatever shit he thought mattered. Willie looked good this morning; keen and ready, and he needed to be, this was a tough assignment. Duncan didn't give a crap about what the Marshal had to say, he just needed the Marshal to listen to him and understand the importance of what he and Willie were here to do today.

"This kids a potential fountain of information about the family business." Duncan explained as the sandal-wearing Marshal handed Willie a pair of boots. Duncan wondered if there was a pair in there for the Marshal as well, he could certainly use them, what kind of a cop wore fucking sandals anyway?

"Look at him," Duncan said to the Marshal, he needed him to understand how important their assignment was, "nice college boy, right? We interrogated him for months he gave up nothing. This is our last chance before the FBI gets him," Duncan went on, deciding that the Marshal was a lost cause and directing his words at Willie, because Willie, he knew, understood completely. "Over my dead body those assholes get the glory."

This assignment was a dangerous one but Willie wanted it. And because he wanted it, Duncan had let him have it. Now they were climbing into the back of a truck to be briefed by a know-it-all Marshal. As if they couldn't handle this, they were DEA agents for fucks sake.

"We pick up Mr. Cindino in Carson City. From then until the plane hits Alabama, we've got two hours to get him to talk. We got you a seat right next to him, and he's known to be somewhat garrulous in the company of thieves," Larkin explained to Willie, whose cover story as a thief wasn't even bullshit because he'd stolen Duncan's heart. But Duncan wasn't too sure about that other word.

"Garrulous? What the fuck is garrulous?" Didn't this wanker speak English?  
"That would be loquacious, verbose, effusive. How about 'chatty'?" Who the fuck did this creep think he was?  
"What's with Dictionary Boy?" Duncan asked Skip, hoping to undermine the clearly incompetent Marshal.  
"'Thesaurus Boy', I think, is more appropriate." Fuck you Marshal Larkin. Anyway, Duncan shouldn't let this little shit rile him. Larkin wasn't important here, it was Willie and their assignment that mattered Duncan reminded himself, focusing once more on the task at hand.  
"You gottcha gun?" Duncan asked his partner, they'd agreed he'd go armed, that's the kind of pillow talk they shared.

"Yeah," Willie told him.

"Whoa, whoa gun?" Skip said as though it wasn't completely rational to take a gun onto a plane packed full of killers and terrorists.

"We got rules gentlemen."

"And so do we, our agents go armed."

"No one carries on this flight. I got a small arsenal in the belly of the plane and a pistol in the cockpit lockbox, that's it. Other than that we keep the plane like a prison; no weapons on the aircraft, period," Marshal Fuckhead said. God fuck, they could not let this little upstart jeopardise a fucking two year investigation.

"My man does not get on that plane without his gun." Duncan tried to ignore the barely there smirk Willie gave him, he needed to concentrate on this negotiation, but knowing that Willie trusted him to sort this was gratifying.

"Then your man doesn't get on the plane." That was not an option so Duncan consented to the Marshal's ridiculous rules, he'd find another way.

"Ok Will, give it to him, " Duncan told Willie despite what they'd agreed. Understandably Willie was reluctant. "Give him the gun," Duncan repeated, hoping Willie would cooperate. Getting the Marshal offside before Willie was securely on the plane was the last thing they needed. Anyway, Willie should know Duncan would do everything in his power to protect him. He'd find a way to get a gun to him.

"Avoid eye contact-"

"I got it."

"In the pen it's a sign of aggression," Larkin continued, ignoring the fact that Willie was a highly trained professional.

"Larkin, I got it," Willie said with that cockiness that Duncan loved about him.

"Ok." Finally Larkin seemed to have received the message that Willie knew what he was doing. It really shouldn't have taken so long.

"Well, we told you today's flight would be special. That's William Bedford, aka 'Billy Bedlam'."

"The mass murderer?" Willie always had been fascinated by these sickos, the opportunity to get up close and personal with them was part of the reason he'd wanted this assignment, especially when he'd heard Garland Greene was boarding in Carson City. Homicide seemed like the obvious choice for Willie to work in, but they worked in drug enforcement, both believing it was better to stop the mess from happening in the first place, rather than just tidying up after it.  
"The same. He caught his wife in bed with another man. Left her alone, drove four towns over to his wife's family's house. Killed her parents, her brothers, her sisters, even her dog."

"And who is that good looking brother on screen?" Willie asked as he fixed his wire, it was nice to see he wasn't overly interested. Duncan had no delusions that he was particularly good looking, he'd bought the Corvette to make up for that, hoping something shiny would catch Willie's eye enough that his gaze wouldn't need to wander.

"Nathan Jones aka Diamond Dog. Former general of the Black Guerillas he blew up a meeting of the National Rifle Association saying, and I quote 'they represented the bassist negativity of the white race'. He wrote a book in prison called Reflections in a Diamond Eye, New York Times called it a wakeup call for the black community, they're talking to Denzel for the movie." The more Duncan heard the more worried he became. It had nothing to do with the type of people boarding the plane, he'd been completely aware of what Willie would be facing once on board. His current unease stemmed from the ridiculous theatrics of this Marshal and Duncan's very serious doubts about his competency as a lawman.  
"This one's done it all: kidnapping, robbery, murder, extortion," Larkin said, and Duncan really didn't give a crap, except for the fact that he knew Willie would be spending the next few hours with these monsters. "His name is Cyrus Grissom, aka Cyrus the Virus. Thirty-nine years old, twenty-five of them spent in our institutions. But he's bettered himself inside. Earned two degrees, including his Juris Doctorate. He also killed eleven fellow inmates, incited three riots, and escaped twice. Likes to brag that he killed more men than cancer."

While the Marshal rambled on Duncan watched the guards on the screen as they frisked the convicts, this was how he would slip Willie a gun.  
"Cyrus is a poster child for the criminally insane. He's a true product of the system."  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Duncan asked, he hated all this do-gooder bullshit. "What is he, one of these sociology majors who thinks we're responsible for breeding these animals?" Willie and himself were both of the firm belief that bad guys were just bad guys and it was their job to stop them.  
"No, but I can point a few fingers if it would make you feel comfortable." What the hell did that even mean?  
"Hey Larkin, who's that guy?" Willie asked with a little more interest than Duncan would like, though glancing at the screen he saw the appeal.

"That is Cameron Poe, a parolee hitching a ride home, he's a nobody."

"Ok let's do it," Duncan said with a lot more confidence than he felt. He wasn't usually nervous, about anything, but today he was sending Willie into the belly of the beast.

"Willie, nobody on the plane knows your classification, not even my guards," Skip reminded Willie.

"Tell me Skip, is the US Marshal's Service in the habit of employing annoying, wisearse, bookworm creeps?"

"Larkin's one of the best we got." And wasn't that a terrifying thought.

"Yeah well, I'd still like to crush his larynx with my boot." It'd be a win/win. He could shut Larkin up and remind him what real men wore on their feet.

xxx

"I got it," Duncan told Skip's guards. They were about to frisk Willie, but Duncan wanted to do it. He needed to plant Willie's gun on him, and besides, this would be the last time he'd see him, until the flight was over. He grabbed Willie roughly and turned him towards himself, remembering that right now Willie was supposed to be a piece-of-shit crim. Roleplaying was fun. Duncan ran his fingers through Willie's hair and made a play at checking him for contraband. He grabbed Willie's face, and told him to open his mouth, he pretended to check it for contraband but really he just wanted to kiss it. He ran his hands around Willie's collar, down his chest, around his waist- maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Larkin didn't want guns on this flight- he even managed to cop a quick feel of Willie's cock through his jeans before kneeling down to hide a pistol in Willie's boot. Then Duncan looked up at Willie's face, he wanted to say something to his love but this was hardly the place.

"You guys are late for the party," a guard called before Duncan had a chance to say any kind of goodbye.

"Ok," he called back before resting his hand on Willie's back and shoving him towards the waiting guard. As he watched Willie board the plane Willie turned back once, and their eyes met. Duncan almost had to bite his tongue to stop himself telling Willie not to go. But the job came first, they needed this break, and Willie was the best man to get Cindino to talk. Even so, Duncan hated to think of Willie surrounded by the animals on that plane, with no one but Marshal Fuckhead's guards to keep him safe. And God help them, they better not fuck it up...


End file.
